


Shaffer doesn't cover practice rooms?

by aykroyd



Category: Whiplash (2014)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-29
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-03-09 13:09:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3250853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aykroyd/pseuds/aykroyd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>i'm not good at naming fics, have fun kiddos</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shaffer doesn't cover practice rooms?

Neiman was practicing in the studio band room alone. Although there were plenty of practice rooms available, being in the band room helped clear his head. He pretended Fletcher was yelling at him from the podium, he could almost hear the yells echoing across the room. He would never admit it, but Fletcher’s hatred arose a drive in Neiman that was primal. The sound of the drums mixed with the echoes of Fletcher’s voice and Neiman closed his eyes as he beat out the core structure of Caravan. 

A bang— “What in the name of Jesus Fucking Christ are you doing in my classroom, Neiman?” The echoes Andrew had been imagining mixed terribly with the real thing as he was shook to reality. “I’m sorry, sir, just— being in here helps me focus.” Andrew looked at his palms, they were covered with sores and fresh blood. “Oh, so you think you can use this room whenever you want? Shaffer doesn’t cover practice rooms? You gotta come in here and bleed all over my fuckin’ drum set?” Andrew didn’t shift his gaze. He became entranced in the pattern of the floor tiles. Fletcher crossed the room, his shoes making satisfying clacks on the floor. He pushed Neiman’s chin up so that they held eye contact. 

“Do you have any respect? Look at someone when they’re talking to you, Neiman, if I’d known you couldn’t look someone in the eyes I wouldn’t have been so surprised you can barely read sheet music.” Fletcher’s touch, although brief, made Andrew connect all the dots in his head. The drive, the need for attention, using his voice as a crutch when practicing, it made so much sense now that he felt like an idiot for not realizing sooner. He had a crush on his piece of shit teacher. Neiman thought now, while he was being chewed out, was not the time to come to terms with his unresolved daddy issues. 

Something stirred in Andrew. He crossed his legs and nodded absentmindedly, not really listening to Fletcher. Fletcher was still hurling insults, most of which would have offended any rational human being. Suddenly, Fletcher stopped. “What is that?” Fletcher motioned towards the bulge rising in Andrew's pants. Neiman flooded with color and feigned ignorance. “I’m sorry what?” Fletcher backed up a little and barked with laughter. 

“I don’t know what you thought this was, Neiman. Some fucking hot and heavy porno you stole from daddy when he still pretended to love you, but this is the big leagues and we don’t have time for you to get a crush on your fucking teacher.” Andrew adjusted his position on his stool so the bass drum gave him a little more coverage, but of course Fletcher saw right through it. He grabbed the bass and flung it across the room, as he’d done so many times before to intimidate Andrew, but there was a different feeling in the air today, the tension between the two was coming to a head.

“What the fuck did I say, Neiman?” He asked, pointing at Andrew’s crotch. “You think popping a boner will make me sleep with you? Have you and reality ever met because I’d be more than willing to introduce the two of you.” Fletcher absentmindedly kicked away the rest of the drum kit, exposing Andrew. He walked across the room and grabbed a chair, Neiman tensed, remembering the last time that happened. Instead, Fletcher dragged it lazily across the linoleum. It made a faint scratching noise like nails on a chalkboard that sent a shiver up Andrew’s spine. Fletcher opened the chair and sat down in front of Andrew.

“So, let’s see it.” Andrew sputtered, but was cut off by Fletcher’s hand grabbing his face. “What are you? The fucking Scatman? Don’t stutter again or I’ll pull it out myself. Now, because I think you’re a little slow, I’ll repeat myself. Let’s. See. Your. Fucking. Dick, Neiman, since you seemed so eager for me to see it before.” Fletcher’s tone was mocking and cold, but Neiman felt a mixture of utter terror and rousing sexuality. His cock still pushed against his jeans completely unaffected by the waves of terror covering Andrew.

“You do know what a boner means, right? You can’t be that fucking stupid. It’s not just coming up to say ‘hello’” “I— I,” Andrew choked out. “Oh, tsk tsk, told you not to stutter again,” Fletcher said slowly with feigned concern. Before Neiman grasped what was happening, Fletcher had Andrew’s jeans halfway down his legs, taking his boxers with them. Andrew tried to hurriedly pull them back up, but Fletcher grabbed the waistband and yanked them forcefully the rest of the way down. Andrew stood indignant, his face flushed red and his penis twitching in anger and arousal. Again, Fletcher looked the boy up and down before getting up and crossing the room. He plucked his coat from it’s hanger and started to put it on.

“Wha— What the fuck!?” Andrew yelled, “You’re just going to to fucking leave?” Fletcher looked back over his shoulder. “Did you think I was going to fuck a student? Like this place needs another reason to fire my ass.” Andrew stared at him blankly, the blush rushing over his ears and crawling to his neck. “Practice is at 9 am tomorrow. Oh, and,” He shot one more look at Andrew’s dick before it was tucked shamefully back into his boxers.

“You were still dragging a bit.” He settled his hat on his head and walked out.


End file.
